Love in Tadfield
by The Doomsday Architect
Summary: [TDAxFanless Collaboration] It started with alcohol, a chance meeting of enemies, and some alleyway groping. Then came an apple, a visit to Tadfield, and a smitten Antichrist. Now...everything's spun out of control and Crowley needs some aspirin, because Aziraphale's advice is extremely unhelpful and awkward. [Central Heating multi-chap shipfic with a layer of crack underneath]


**I wish I could say I didn't know where this came from, but it's all Fanless's fault.**

**Okay, and mine for having the strange dream in the first place. First foray into GO fanfiction, yaaaaaay.**

**But, voila! We have procured this...whatever the _hell_ this is. Enjoy!**

**~The Doomsday Architect~**

**Title:** Love in Tadfield

**Chapter:** 1-Changes

**Pairings:** Crowley/Hastur [Central Heating], one-sided puppy love Adam/Crowley

**Words:** 2,521

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Twelve months had passed since the Saturday that had become known as _The_ Saturday. The Saturday to end all Saturdays…well, it hadn't been that great (far from it) but it had almost eradicated all future Saturdays.

The point is, life went on for the Them (and Dog), and for Aziraphale and Crowley. Lower Tadfield remained as bloody beautiful as ever. Aziraphale and Crowley continued their lives as ever. With the exception of one tiny change, which eventually grew bigger and spawned another similar change, and the resulting mixture of the two gave Crowley a migraine.

The first: Crowley and Hastur developed _stirrings_.

Neither of them was quite sure how it happened. Crowley didn't exactly fall for people who tried to kill him, and Hastur…well, Hastur was still preoccupied being stuck in the 13th century.

The duo did agree that the resulting year after the Not-Apocalypse definitely contributed to it. A year gives people lots of time to think things over. Hastur was still pretty upset (to put it flavorlessly mildly) over the trouble Crowley had gotten him into Down Below, and Crowley was busy being paranoid, waiting for him to appear in his flat a second time and kill him. Eventually, somehow, through sheer lack of actual communication the two of them reached an understanding—they would pretend neither existed.

Unfortunately, this was easier said than done. The Dark Council, after they had satisfied themselves that a year of solitary confinement had suitably put a damper on the Duke's propensity for Plan-ruining ballistics, turned Hastur loose - with the stipulation that he use his newfound freedom to educate himself in the modern ways that had tripped him up so neatly in what was becoming simply known as "the Affair". Doubly unfortunately, they allowed him enough freedom to choose his own route.

Thus he and Crowley ran rather literally into each other in a pub in Southampton. Copious amounts of alcohol were put away in tandem attempts to avoid each other, which of course meant that before long they were fighting. And before long, they were outside in the alley continuing the fight.

This had been more or less what Crowley thought would happen. He knew Hastur, and demons of his type, well enough to expect grudges and violent retaliation.

What he _hadn't_ expected was for Hastur to shove him against the brick wall of the pub, ball up his fists in Crowley's collar, growl something along the lines of "I'll teach _you _to keep out of my dreams, you little snake," and pull him off the ground into a clumsy but blistering and whiskey-flavored kiss. What he expected even _less _was to find that, after the initial shock, it was not at all an unpleasant sensation. In fact, as Hastur backed him into the wall and locked their lips again, chest heaving and shark-pointed teeth knocking against his, Crowley's snakeskin shoes muddied and hanging in tiptoe between the bricks and Hastur's shins, he found he was enjoying the demonhandling very much indeed.

And perhaps neither of them expected it at all, but the booze and the tension and the impulsive aggression took a very different turn from there. A narrative blur in which the tenor of the heavy breathing altered significantly, and the morning light found Crowley waking painfully on an unfamiliar and poorly swept apartment floor with bite marks in some very unorthodox areas and an unclothed Duke twined around him snoring surprisingly softly. After the initial shock had passed, he felt a surge of exploratory interest and woke Hastur up with a rather personal placement of hand. They passed the next few hours discovering what a stupid idea ignoring each other had been.

Needless to say, this development wasn't expected by Aziraphale, whom Crowley reluctantly and uncomfortably confided in.

"Oh!" he said, blinking at the demon in surprise. "I didn't know your lot…went for that sort of thing."

Whether he meant sleeping with another demon, someone of the same sex, or a relationship overall Crowley didn't know, but struggled to come up with a response only for the angel to pat his arm soothingly and say, "Not to worry, dear, if he makes you happy then everything is perfectly fine."

There was never any clarification for what exactly he had been talking about, and Crowley was too mortified by the exchange to ever ask again.

The two of them visited Adam on a semi-regular basis, Aziraphale more so than Crowley, at the young Antichrist's insistence. After The Saturday he had rather imperiously demanded they keep in touch. Both said yes - Aziraphale because he was probably physically incapable of denying anything to a child, and Crowley because he was honestly terrified of upsetting anyone who could stop the armies of Heaven and Hell in their tracks.

Adam was an interesting paradox. His life was undoubtedly simple, but he had one of the most complicated trains of thought Crowley had ever seen. One minute he would be talking about something Dog had done and just continue speaking, saying the thoughts that crossed his mind the moment they formed. It was not unlike leaving your house and walking in the direction your feet felt like taking - eventually a destination would be reached, but knowing what it was beforehand would be impossible. Sometimes Crowley struggled to keep up and follow him.

That said, sometimes the child was just plain random. And there the seeds of the second change found fertile soil.

"What is this?"

"An apple!" the boy replied, giving Crowley a "duh" look to match his tone.

The demon tried again. "I mean, why are you giving me one?"

Adam frowned. "Well...'cos..."

Crowley, seized by a sudden realization of the irony that was an apple being gifted to him, of all people, decided to take it without waiting for a response. "Thanks."

Adam beamed.

Crowley took a lazy bite of the fruit. Demons didn't need to eat any more than angels, which was never. But sometimes it was nice to go through the motions, and his younger companion seemed to appreciate it.

The two of them were outside the Young residence - Crowley in the shade of a tree, Adam on the grass. Crowley really wasn't surprised to see nothing had changed since his last visit. Or the one before that. Wherever Adam was, time seemed to slow to a crawl.

"You never visit," the youth complained.

"I'm here now."

"I mean _before_. You haven't come by in forever." He gave Crowley an accusatory glare of one mortally offended. "What've you been up to?"

_Traumatizing plants. Shagging a Duke_. "Stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"...Demon stuff?"

Now Adam looked more interested. "What kinda things does a demon do?"

"Er..." Hell's denizens weren't exactly known for their skills with children, and Crowley was no exception. Desperately he fumbled for a lifeline. "You wouldn't be interested in it. Boring things." Kids liked to talk about themselves, didn't they? "What about you? How are things wIth your friends?"

But instead of brightening and launching into another tale of the Them's daring escapades, Adam shrugged. "Not so great. Wensleydale's got a new issue of his magazine, he's been reading it constantly ever since. That's fine and all, but Pepper's got the chicken pox - "

Sensing a potential topic, Crowley pounced. "The one with the freckles? She's your girlfriend, right?"

Adam went pink. "'Course not! She's _Pepper_."

This was apparently supposed to mean something, but it was lost on Crowley. "So?"

"Never mind," Adam said exasperatedly, still looking embarrassed.

Out of ideas, Crowley gazed up at the sky, content with the silence. However Adam, apparently, was not, for after a few minutes he asked, "Do _you _have a girlfriend?"

Crowley sincerely hoped Hastur wasn't employing his world-class lurking skills somewhere nearby. "No..."

Surprised, the Antichrist inquired, "Why not?"

_Because crossdressing is where Hastur draws the line_. "I'm not interested."

If Crowley was the type of demon to do so, he would have muttered something about speaking of the devil, because at that precise moment there was a guttural, sputtering noise accompanying a sleek black motorcycle pulling up to the house. It wasn't the most pleasant noise, and Crowley recognized the owner immediately by the way he nearly took out the Youngs' mailbox.

Hastur may have picked up riding like a natural, but he still had seven centuries of catching up to do before he could truly successfully operate anything more complex than a telephone.

"Who's that?" Adam asked grumpily. Crowley frowned. Maybe the boy liked that mailbox.

"Downstairs business for you, Crowley," snapped Hastur without preamble, swinging a lanky leg over the cycle seat. He loped toward the two, hands in pockets, pausing only to nod rather shortly and warily at Adam as if the boy was sitting there with a bomb in his hands (which, after a fashion, he essentially was). "It won't keep all day."

"Who're you?" Adam shot at the Duke, arms crossed.

Hastur's eye twitched. "Duke Hastur."

Crowley eyed them warily, feeling the animosity between the two and wishing to get far away from it. "...Right. Well, Adam, duty calls, but, uh, I'll drop by again soon, shall I? Always time to visit a friend."

Adam's eyes lit up at this. He scuffed one sneaker in the grass, gaze flicking down, and a faint patina of pink appeared across his nose and cheekbones. "I'd like that lots."

"_Crowley_," said Hastur warningly. Crowley sighed and turned, tossing a casual wave over his shoulder. "Fine," he said, "but we're taking my car. Last time I got on the back of that thing I almost got discorporated."

"Last time you got on the back of my bike we were outrunning a pack of rabid hellhounds."

"I would have died anyway when you almost backed me into the wall. How do you hit reverse on a _cycle _by _mistake_?"

Hastur refused to dignify this with a response. In fact, he didn't speak again until they were pulling out of the Youngs' driveway, at which point he said abruptly from the passenger seat, "I don't care whose kid he is, he had just best watch how he goes round me."

"What? Why?" Crowley was surprised - he may have been awful with talking to youngsters and around kids in general, but he didn't hate them, or Adam.

"Come on, Crowley, stop playing." Hastur sniffed, crossing his arms. "Innocent don't suit you, I should know." Here Crowley sputtered, ears burning, but the senior demon took no notice. "He's up to somethin' I don't bloody like. Inviting you for tea-time, polishing apples for you - what for, I ask?"

"Maybe he just likes doing things for people." Crowley shrugged, looking back to the road. "Not everyone's as magnificently suspicious as you and me, Hastur."

"Huh! You're joking. Listen, Crowley, I've been in the personal-temptation business a Hell of a lot longer than you have, I know the signs - speaking of signs _watch out for that bloody crosswalk you'll ruin the suspension if you hit those ruddy kids!_"

"Children need excitement, keeps their heart rate up!" But Crowley hit the brakes. "Now go on, what were you saying?"

Hastur scowled. His face was never exactly welcoming at the best of times: sharp and stern, except on very notable occasions, but now it almost literally darkened. Crowley expected rainclouds to roll in above his unkempt hair. "Obvious, innit?"

"No, it really isn't," the driving demon shot back, eyes narrowed slightly.

"Oh, for the love of -_ HE FANCIES YOU!_"

The Bentley protested as Crowley slammed on the brakes, skidding to a complete stop smack in the middle of an intersection.

"Come again?" Surely he hadn't heard that right.

"He. Fancies. You," Hastur repeated slowly, growling out the words like a very stressed parent.

"Oh, no." Crowley laughed, the sound the slightest bit hysterical. "No, no. Can't be. Don't be daft, Hastur. He's cheer captain and I'm in the bleachers, if we're talking power just to begin with - "

"What?"

"Figure of speech, forget about it. What I'm saying is - " Crowley waved a hand expressively, incidentally changing a yellow light to a green. "No! I'm an immortal force of disorder, he's... well, he's in secondary school! And _if _we were just talking levels of prestige, he's worth about a million of me. Not only could he smash me with a flick of his finger, _and did I mention he's a child_, he could make it so that there had never _been _a me _to _smash. Things like that just don't _happen_."

"Ahem," said his lover, the Duke.

"Well, that's..." began Crowley lamely. Hastur cut him off with an impatient hand-wave. "Forget it. I'm tellin' you what I see, and what I see I don't like. You keep away from that kid, Crowley. For Satan's sake at least don't _encourage _him."

"How on Earth do I manage that?"

Without warning the Bentley slammed to another stop. Crowley wheezed and peeled himself off the steering wheel, then opened his mouth - he certainly hadn't done that himself - but before he could manage a sound, Hastur interrupted again, his voice brittle.

"What, you can't figure it out yourself? And I thought you were so bloody smart, Crowley. You don't want my advice? Fine. Handle it yourself - we both know what a _bang-up_ job you did dealin' with the Antichrist yourself the _last _time round, don't we?" He grinned, but there was no humor in it; it was more of a snarl. "Go play his secondary-school games if you're so inclined - indulge him, why don't you? We'll see whether you believe me when you're spread across Tadfield in a layer of dust because you broke his chaotic little heart, eh? And till then, don't bother callin' me up. Since by _your _logic there, things like you and me _just don't happen_."

"Hastur-" The Bentley was deserted before Crowley could finish the word, and Hastur long gone.

Crowley thumped his forehead against the steering wheel, groaning softly. Could this get any more -

**_CROWLEY?_**

"WHAT?!" he screamed at the dashboard.

**_NO NEED TO SHOUT, CROWLEY,_** Dagon chided. **_IT IS UNBECOMING._**

Crowley muttered several curses at the Under-Duke. "What do you want?"

**_WORD TRAVELS FAST DOWN HERE, CROWLEY. IS IT TRUE?_**

He groaned. "Is what true?"

**_YOU KNOW WHAT. THE THING WITH YOU AND THE ANTICHRIST._**

"There is no _thing!_" Crowley protested shrilly. "How did you even find out?"

**_I HAVE MY WAYS. YOU REALLY SHOULD HAVE SPOKEN TO LUCIFER -_**

Crowley switched off the radio and idly wondered how many times he could cause massive brain trauma to himself before discorporating back to Hell.

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**And...scene.**

**(Psst. Check out Fanless's stuff. She's epic.)**

**Could I possibly trouble the reader for a review?**

**~The Doomsday Architect~**


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